


Forget Me Not (I Beg You)

by Beeves



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Chill, Denial, Depression, Eddie is super ooc, F/M, Friendship, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Mental Instability, Mentions of Rape, None of this makes sense lol, OCD, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Build, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, but like delayed?, like super duper, or like, this fic is a fucking mess I'm so sorry, where did that come from, woah, youll be like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beeves/pseuds/Beeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It really didn't add up.</p><p>Eddie seemed to be getting . . . better. </p><p>Waylon's brow furrowed. "I doubt this place's technology is strong enough to fix that kind of trauma."</p><p>Eddie nodded. "Perhaps not. But Murkoff's was..."</p><p>"You don't think Murkoff actually cured you, right? That's insane."</p><p>Eddie laughed. It was insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A jagged melody flowed throughout the empty halls of the asylum. Soft piano echoing in the silence as fingers struggled to piece together notes known only by memory.

He had not been trained classically in childhood, but as the saying goes, it is never too late to learn. 

"Optimism is key, my darling." Mother had often said to him, and he was the most optimistic person he knew. The only person he knew really.

It wasn't if he was completely alone on the property. There were times when a confused soul would wander down his halls, yet he paid them no mind, his past intentions having been put to rest since the 'indecent'. 

It was simply because of his own vulgar behavior that karma had come to seek its bitter revenge. A pipe through the chest. Miraculously, the penetration managed to miss any vital organs. 

He did, however, lose a substantial amount of blood.

Paramedics arrived on scene not long after the mass evacuation, and upon finding him had rushed to get him down. The moment his body hit the floor a giant invisible wave washed over him, making his vision go black as he gasped wetly. 

His rage was gone, along with any thoughts of attacking the men around him. His head spun dizzily at the pain and his gut lurched as he felt the metal shaft slowly being drawn out from behind. Some of them stopped the bleeding the best they could, using a questionable amount of medications in order to numb him from the pain. 

They could not stay long, unfortunately enough. 

Walrider lurked in the shadows, always awaiting it’s next victim. He was once again left to himself, fading in and out of consciousness while laid out on a too small, filthy cot in the west wing of the women’s ward.

He had stayed there for some time to regain what little strength he could before gathering up any supplies left behind and starting his trek back down to the basement. 

For the first time, his walk was undisturbed. The hospital had been eerily quiet in its degrade.

It had taken weeks to manage walking without a sharp pain shooting up his spine at every step. He was strangely thankful then for the extensive experiments doctors had preformed on his body during treatment. Stressed and mutated muscles left him with the unearthly ability to heal fairly quickly. 

The silence allowed him to reflect on all that had happened in those few days.

Being released from the engine was like a blessed rebirth, but without the support of his memories and thoughts he had predictably relapsed upon mindless old habits. 

The first bird was caught within the hour. She was small and quite ignorant, believed every lie and promise he seduced her with. He simply didn't have the heart to say it to her face. That her repulsive body disgusted him beyond belief. 

There was no possible way to let her down easy, so he had killed her.

He killed the next as well, and then the next. Even the next after that. Modeled them to his liking and strung them up like the angels they could've been. But alas, whores will always be whores, and whores do not go to heaven.

In a way, he began to do experiments of his own. 

He took pity on the ungrateful sluts that crossed his path by attempting to give them what every woman needs in order to be a mother. 

Each experiment, to his disdain, had failed. 

Which is why he kept searching, studying, perfecting his creation of the ideal bride to mother his seed. Day after day he was gifted with a new disappointment. The irritation began to wear on him. 

That is, until the night before the evacuation.

She had appeared to him like a divine being sent down to him above. 

Beautiful she was, and quick on her feet too. 

She ran even with her numerous injuries, short and lithe legs carrying her small body away from him like a speeding hummingbird.

Oh, how she made his heart soar.

He had wanted- no, needed her forever by his side.

To become his wife.

She had been so nervous and coy when he'd offered to fix her, to rid her of the disgusting mistake slung low below her stomach. What a shame, to be born of the wrong body. 

Yet still, her soul was a vibrant one and drew him in like a moth to a light.

He would’ve made an honest woman of her.

If there was one thing he regretted more than anything, it was letting her go.

So now he played to forget. He played until his fingers cramped and could play no more, then kept playing. He would often catch himself humming the long forgotten lyrics of the song.

His phonograph was useless now. Angry and confused, he'd destroyed everything within reach, utterly trashing the dark basement. 

Chairs, sewing machines, records . . . he'd even burned his precious dresses. Creations that took endless hours to perfect for the special day, a day that would never come.

He could not blame those birds for attempting to leave him. A man should not hold affection for another man, such as why the tailor had tried as he did to fix them when it was obvious he couldn't fix himself. He had been given the ability to gift them with the bodies and love that every good woman deserves. 

However, the devil is a sick entity that corrupts and drives one to test his own moral standings, using a sweet tongue and honey lips to drive any God fearing man insane. He had faced the horned menace enough to know. 

In every expression of each whore he strung up, each slut he tossed out, was either a look of fear or confusion. Sometimes, he'd let the guilt simmer deep within his gut as bile creeped up the back of his throat. The moment he'd taste acid on his tongue was just as quickly forced down with the belief that his own righteous judgement had not been in vain.

Those whores leaving this world had been a service.

Yes, that was the vulgar behavior which had set karma onto him like a rabid dog. While he'd forgotten all the others the moment life had left their eyes, he couldn't seem to erase that sweet hummingbird from his memory.

Oh, how he missed her.

For her he played. Played to forget. Played to remember.

Played to mourn.

Played so loudly that he did not hear the shuffling of chairs being moved from their places behind him, upsetting the invisible audience at his back. 

He did not register the soft click of shoes on wood, or the sound of creaking as loose floorboards were stepped on. Simply continued to drown himself with a clunky melody from a song with long forgotten verses.

He did, however, feel the halting ghost of cold metal press against the nape of his neck.

The piano ceased, its strings rang airily until the only thing that could be heard were his own labored breaths. Turning slowly, so not to startle the weapon's owner, his eyes came level with a chest dressed in a plain black t-shirt. His gaze climbed once more until it soon rested upon the face of his unexpected guest.

No.

Perhaps it was simply his disgusting imagination toying with him. Impulsively, he reached out, not paying mind to the way the other visibly tended at his approach. When his fingertips brushed softly against a firm chest he nearly fell from the bench.

It was impossible.

She came back, but . . .

Not alone it seemed.

Lined up intimidatingly behind her were men suited in black uniforms. Some held guns while others were brandished with badges and handcuffs.

Curiously, he met the stern green gaze of his beloved. She was stoic and stiff by all means, even as she lowered the gun. His eyes flickered to her lips as she began to speak.

"Eddie Gluskin," He wished she wouldn't say his name like that. Like it brought her pain just by even mentioning him. 

"You are under arrest for the crimes you committed while in custody of Murkoff Corporation. We offer promise of a trial in exchange that you charge against the doctors who tortured and experimented on you in the time of your . . . treatment." She paused, taking a deep breath. 

"I am giving you the chance to cooperate, Eddie. This is you getting off easy. If you come along willingly we will not have to result to sedatives, however, if you by any means attempt to harm or touch me again, you will be restrained immediately. Am I understood?" He had not been listening though, only thinking of a million ways he could possibly make things right with the beautiful creature in front of him.

"Understood?" She asked again through clenched teeth, hand that held the gun twitching upward in barely contained irritation

Seeing that she was hoping for nothing else but an answer to her question, he took the chance to voice what he had been wondering since their last night together.

"What is your name?" He croaked, voice gravelly from misuse.

A look of astonishment softened her hardened features. Tentatively, she glanced away to make eye contact with one of the men and silently asked for permission to share information.

The man shrugged in reply.

He grinned.

Satisfied with the answer, she turned back to him. "Park. Waylon Park, is my name." Waylon. How fitting. Waylon. "Now," He watched on dreamily as she continued. "Are you willing to cooperate?"

He gave a curt nod and boldly exclaimed, "Only if it means you will stay by my side."

A few of the men chuckled and her face turned a gentle shade of pink in embarrassment, or maybe anger.

"Man, Waylon. You weren't kidding about this guy." Spoke different man from before.

Waylon glared at him, "No. I wasn't." The man held his hands up in mock surrender, and Walyon turned back to face the tailor once again.

"Eddie."

"Yes?"

"You realize I'm a man right?"

He blinked at this. Of course he realized, Eddie thought back to how Waylon's chest had been flat and firm under his touch. The tailor hunched over, clutching his head in confusion. 

He knew he shouldn't say anything, but again, old habits die hard. 

And well, he always was the impulsive one. 

Eddie turned his face upwards, dropping his hands as he fixed with other with a cheek-splitting grin. "I can fix that for you, darling." He purred.

Waylon flinched. The rate at which her, no, his calm demeanor shifted to one of disgust and horror was instantantaneous. He- she stepped away, eyes clouding over as she stood perfectly still in her spot just out of reach.

"Grab him." Was the last thing Eddie heard before his face met harshly with the black and white keys of the grand piano, causing unpleasant dissonance to echo throughout the room. He groaned as chipped broken pieces jabbed into his cheek. Cold metal clasped around his wrists before he was pulled upright from the bench. 

It tipped on its side and the seat fell open, contents spilling out onto the grimy floor. Old music books and notes flitted around his feet.

How long had those been there?

Hands urged him away from the pile and through the wooden doors that led to the main staircase. Eddie took in his surroundings the best he could, tilting his neck as much as the grasp on his head would would allow. Waylon was no longer anywhere to be seen.

The light from outside was blinding against his sensitive eyes, and he stumbled to keep up with the men dragging him towards a collection of federal vehicles that surrounded the premises. 

As he glanced around, he noticed a small group of patients being hoarded into the back of a large truck. Some were being tended to with food and water, others with medication while the rest slept soundly on the laps of what looked to be nurses.

"Where are we going?" He asked the men as they moved him in the direction of a red jeep parked next to the gates.

"To get you guys the help you need." The one that spoke nodded and his lips upturned slightly. "For real this time."

Eddie stared in disbelief.

To say he was shocked was an understatement. The last time someone had genuinely smiled at him, he'd been gagged by tubes and wires while the morphogenic engine did a number on his brain. Scientists and doctors would tell him what a good boy he was, praised him on how hard he worked for them. They'd smile, and press their palms gently against the glass orb.

It was mockery, he knew. 

Some had even said they loved him.

He felt sick.

Eddie hunched over in pain as his body attempted to purge his already empty stomach.

Shit.

What was happening to him?

Nurses rushed to his side, quickly assisting him into the jeep. The back row of seats was separated from the driver and passenger's seats. Almost like a cop car, he remembered vaguely from the first time he was arrested. 

For the murder and mutilation of 23 local women.

Old habits, they die hard.

Eddie was soon joined in the jeep by a man in black, who entered to the side of him, one in the passenger's seat, and Waylon taking the wheel. Where had she . . . he (he was getting a headache) come from? The vehicles began to pull away from the building, their car being the last to leave.

They rode in silence, weaving down and out of the mountain. It wasn't until he saw towering buildings and small shops lining the street that his nerves actually began to subside.

Anywhere was better than the asylum, he realized. It was strange. 

While Eddie had loved his basement home, the area he had created as a safe haven for him and his family, he could not deny the weight that was lifted off of him as they grew farther and farther away from the death trap.

As they drove on, Eddie began to grow tired. Very tired actually.

He was never tired in all of his time at Mt. Massive, but now? He felt like he could sleep for days. Weeks even.

Eddie sensed someone watching him, and he slowly turned his attention to the rear view mirror. Green eyes watched him curiously through the glass as he stared back challengingly. 

Waylon’s eyes turned away, focusing back on the road. 

Eddie sighed, strangely relieved. His lids grew heavy then and he, stranger yet, allowed himself to lull into unconsciousness.

-

Eddie's eyes cracked open, thick with sleep. He felt a tapping against next to temple and reluctantly lifted his head to peer out the window. 

Waylon waved to him and gestured to the handle to show that he was going to open the door. The tailor nodded and pulled his weight away from it. A chill breeze rushed into the vehicle as the blond stood out of Eddie's way and waited patiently for him to emerge.

His head felt clear, senses bright with color and a feeling of renewal. He had long forgotten how it felt to breathe before the asylum, but if he had to guess, this must be something similar to how it once was. 

The asylum had only succeeded in not curing, but worsening his sickness; Churning it like butter and then leaving it to sit as it aged, solidifying in the damp darkness of his cell. Gradually growing a thick clear layer of mold which had slowly and pitifully rotted him to the core.

Yes. He felt very much like the old him, or whatever small semblance there was to it.

One who had hope of receiving help, of recognizing his sins.

He felt young again.

Eddie took a moment to relish in the cold against his skin before placing a tingling foot onto the ground outside.

"Where-" Was all the groom could say before his knees gave out beneath him. A guard shoved a firm hand against his shoulder, suspending him from falling any further. Eddie grunted, the numbness in his limbs was a feeling he had long forgotten. 

What was this? Had he been drugged in his sleep? The tailor bared his teeth menacingly, mind racing. He should've known. Nobody can be trusted.

"Hmhm.."

Eddie's eyes snapped up in shock to a poorly hidden smirk from Waylon.

That sound, "Looks like your legs fell asleep. Not surprised. It was a pretty long ride. You were dead to the world, didn't move an inch the entire way here." Was most indeed a sound of laughter.

"You're laughing?" Eddie mumbled in disbelief. 

Waylon's smirk disappeared. "No." He replied.

Eddie furrowed his brow. "But you were." He insisted.

Shouldn't Waylon be quaking at the sight of him? Why wasn't he afraid? 

And when had Eddie started referring to Waylon as he? 

Waylon crossed his arms in annoyance. "Why does it matter?" He asked. 

Eddie shook his head then straightened up to his full height, peering down into the other's eyes. "Aren't you afraid?" He asked. 

Waylon looked taken aback, like he was surprised at himself for not having concidered that maybe he should be afraid of Eddie. "You aren't so dangerous right now, are you?" He asked. 

It sounded as if Waylon was asking himself the question. 

Eddie took a moment to allow the delusional thoughts and overwhelming urge to murder and maim take over. 

He waited, but nothing came. 

Surely he’d had moments of clarity before, times he’d questioned what exactly he was trying to accomplish. But nothing like this. No. Not like this. 

The blond shrugged at his silence before turning on his heel and hopping up the set of cement stairs they had parked in front of.

Left standing in confusion, he couldn't help but think of Waylon’s laugh, a sweet tinkling sound. It soothed his aching ears. 

He wanted to hear it again.

The hand on his shoulder guided him up the steps towards a large pair of dark wooden doors. His eyes landed on a sign suspended above them that read 'St. Johnson's Home for the Clinically Insane'.

Lovely. 

Resisting the urge to sneer, Eddie waited as Waylon placed a card against a scanner imbedded into the door handle. The light beeped red and the small blond pushed the doors open.

He was guided down an exceptionally long, and boringly white hallway. Once they reached the end they took a few more turns before coming to a stop outside of a single black door. Raising a tight fist, Waylon knocked once, twice, three times before stiffly pulling his arm back down against his side.

The heavy door screeched open. Standing in front of them was a petite young lady wearing a skimpy maroon pencil skirt and a frilly white blouse that looked rather unpleasent to touch. The obnoxious blue eyeshadow made her look like she belonged on a street corner rather than in an office.

Perhaps the bright color was meant to be alluring, but she honestly looked more like a washed up raccoon than anything else.

Slut, Eddie thought. His nose wrinkled up in distaste immediately after the thought, and he quickly pushed down the nasty urge to open his mouth and say it.

Frowning, the lady turned her gaze onto Eddie. Her glossy pink lips pinched as she looked him up and down. Begrudgingly, he offered a taunting white grin to her in return. She huffed, then moved back to allow them into her office. 

"Not very personable is she?" He muttered. 

Waylon snorted.

The guard pushed him towards one of the chairs placed in front of a seemingly expensive mahogany desk. The room itself was pristine.

"Forgive me for the mess." She said. 

Eddie resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. 

"I was only just recently informed of your admission." The lady then turned to glare at Waylon. "Phone calls usually do not fit protocol when it comes to admitting a patient," The blond stiffened, turning to avoid her gaze. "But an acception was made due to the unusual circumstances. I'm afraid I'm rather busy so we will have to make this meeting short." She smiled, sickeningly sweet, and motioned towards a seat absently as she lowered into her own, more comfortable looking chair.

He sat.

"Do you know where you are Mr. Gluskin?" She asked.

Straight to the point. Yes, best to be blunt with the crazies then. 

If she was going to speak to Eddie like he was an an idiot then it would only be fair to offer her the same graciousness.

"Indeed. I read the sign." She scratched something onto a clipboard with her pen, and looked up once again. He smiled. What could she possibly get out of being informed that he wasn’t an illiterate fuck?

"And do you know why you are here Mr. Gluskin?" She asked, voice taking on a mocking tone. Not only did she look like a whore, but she was an unprofessional quack as well. 

He lowered his gaze to meet her eyes more steadily. "I do." She frowned, seemingly annoyed he was not some brain fried cretin that anxiously relied on others for everything that needed to be said.

"So you are aware that we will be working together from here on out, Mr. Gluskin?" Her gaze flicked to Walyon once more, as if daring him to stop the patient from snarking back. Waylon swallowed convulsively, then turned his gaze towards the floor in defeat. 

Eddie took notice of a plaque on the desk that read Dr. Adams. 

This woman hadn't even introduced herself yet she still quizzed him like a child. 

Lucky for her, Eddie was quite sharp.

"I am." He knew a washed up psychiatrist when he saw one.

Pausing to write something else down, the woman spoke once again. "Then we should have no problems together," She slowly placed the board in her lap and glared at everyone in the room individually. "Now, if you would please be so kind as to leave me to my work. I really am quite busy."

Eddie was pulled out of the seat with a firm tug, and then into the hallway. He stumbled slightly and it took him a moment to register that the hand on his elbow belonged not to a beefy guard, but Waylon. Eddie's eyes widened incredulously. 

Waylon clutched his chest tightly, practically vibrating where he stood. "I hate that bitch." He spat. "Christ, no respect for anyone. You'd think being on the same team would make her stop thinking it's alright to boss me around like that, but no." He sighed and then brought a shaky hand up to card it through his hair, mumbling to himself something about how people of authority made him antsy. 

The guard shut the door behind him then gently pried Eddie's arm out of Waylon's grip, taking it for himself. 

Waylon flinched away from the guard's touch as if it had burned him. 

And that was it, the tailor could not help himself.

Eddie attempted to quiet his chuckles, but his shoulders shook with every wheeze. Waylon shifted uneasily from foot to foot while Eddie laughed silently next to him.

"What's so funny?" Waylon frowned. 

Eddie thought it looked more like a pout.

"She was quite rude, wasn't she." He said, letting out a pleased sigh. "It's amusing."

Refreshing, rather.

Waylon gave him a curious look. "Yes, well, your sense of humor is pretty interesting then." He said, turning to walk down the hallway they originally came from.

He doesn't have to be told to follow, the guard's hand is still gripping his elbow tighty. They move down yet another boringly long hallway before coming to an elevator. 

Waylon considers something for a moment, then presses a button to open the doors. "See him to his room now." He says quietly, eyes narrowed at the floor. He and the guard enter the elevator, but Waylon stays back. The blond reaches a hand inside to press another button, then steps back completely. 

The elevator begins to close with a sharp beep, and Waylon’s head snaps up. Their eyes meet one last time. Eddie thinks he notices something unrecognizable there.

He doesn’t look away until the elevator doors shut between them, ending the exchange. 

Eddie’s frowns. 

-

"Do you smell that?" His child asked. 

Sniffing the air, he gave a hum of agreement.

"Mm. Yeah." The boy sighed longingly. "Pizza rolls." Waylon chuckled at his son's seemingly endless appetite. Only an hour ago he had scarfed down two bowls of Frosted Flakes.

He got the appetite from his mother.

"Patience young one." Soft brown locks snagged between his fingers as he carded them through the pre-teen's knotted bird's nest. Curls also courtesy of Lisa.

"Daaad-" his son whined, bony fingers attempting halfheartedly to rid the programmer from his mop of tangles. 

"Sonnn-" Waylon returned mockingly, ginning at the pout he received.

"Boys. Do not tease." Out walked his wife from the kitchen, carrying a large tray topped with a particularly generous helping of Totino's pizza rolls. 

His stomach let out a growl, and his son hit the floor with a dull thud as he was rolled off of his father's lap. Waylon flinched. 

"Oof!" The boy wheezed. 

Waylon chuckled, shaking his head and reaching forward to take a roll off of the tray, popping it into his mouth with a hum. "I did good marrying you, woman." He said, sending his wife a wink as she turned to smirk at him.  


His son made a face and then kissed his teeth in annoyance. "Whatever."

He picked himself up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Waylon flinched again. Lisa rolled her eyes as she placed their youngest son into his high chair. "You tease him too much." 

Waylon hummed, speaking around a mouthful of gooey cheese. "Only 'cause I love him."

The tall brunet grinned and reached her hand out cautiously. "Oh, I know." Her touch was soft as she traced along the scar just above his eyebrow. "He knows it too, but you know how he gets when he's being teased." She said softly.

She wasn't ever harsh when she scolded him. Never yelled at him or raised her voice above room volume. While he appreciated her concern, he'd rather not be treated like glass on the brink of shatter. He was not still weak like before, fresh out of the asylum and constantly on the verge of a panick attack or tears. 

Sure he still got nightmares far too often, felt sick at the thought of ever eating microwaved food again. Sometimes he checked the front door's locks twice in a row before walking away and then going back to check for a third time. 

Sometimes a fourth.

Just in case . . . 

He was getting better though.

He even took up jogging and maintained a healthy diet, making sure to stay in shape.

Just in case.

Waylon nodded once before shoving a couple more Totino's into his mouth. Lisa peeled a tiny genetically engineered orange before placing the miniature slices in front of their son. "A Cutie for my cutie!" She sang, then pinched the toddler's cheek in loving affection.

He screeched and brought his little chubby fingers up to his face, hiding from the woman's ministrations. "Nahh ma!" 

She chuckled sweetly, raising her hands. "Alright, sugar."

Waylon smiled as she took a seat beside him, grabbing a few rolls for herself. "So," She started. 

He picked up the tv remote and flipped through channels for a moment before replying. "So?" 

His wife turned to him with a look of concern painting her beautiful face. "How did the mission go?" Oh.

He averted his eyes as he sunk into the plush couch cushions, hoping that they'd have a heart and swallow him up. Work wasn't exactly something he was comfortable talking about with his loved ones. It only caused trouble, and he'd been trying his hardest to keep them out of the way of any backfire Murkoff may have in store for him. 

He pinched his nose and let out a slow breath before turning to Lisa with a look of what he hoped was indifference. "We scouted the asylum, brought in some witnesses, and turned in the remaining patients that were left behind. Nothing too exciting."

Oh, not to mention he arrested the very man that had been haunting his dreams every night since he returned home 6 months ago.

To his surprise, Gluskin had come along without a fight. Waylon received every look ranging from confusion, to excitement, and lastly something akin to regret from the moment they first met eyes until the elevators doors closed between them. He had been on his way out of the building when a nurse stopped him with whether or whether or not he'd be sticking around to record Eddie's process of recovery.

Of course he would. After he got out of the asylum and the footage had been released, Waylon joined an unnamed organization with the sole purpose of bringing Murkoff to its knees. He also had the FBI on his side now. Those bastards were going to pay for all they'd done, and having the more verbal patients testify against the corporation was going to be his key to opening that door. 

Especially Gluskin. 

Not only was Eddie a patient just like all of the others they had rescued from the hospital, but he was now Waylon's greatest asset in this battle.

Yes. It was best to take care on this business on his own.

Waylon turned looked at his wife's disbelieving look.

Then again, he had never been good at keeping secrets.

"I found him." He said impulsively, not having to explain who 'him' is. 

He cringed. 

Lisa fell silent beside to him, so he continued. "I think he's really got a chance this time, Lisa. I really do." She wasn't looking at him, but at her hands. "I want to help him."

"Why?" She whispered as fingers curled against her palm, manicured nails digging into the soft flesh. "I thought he was dead . . ."

The room grew quiet.

They were being cautious with each other now. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Lisa knew all about what had happened between him and Gluskin, she'd been allowed to his camcorder after he was taken into custody for a few days of observation and questioning. They didn't talk for about a week after he'd returned home.

They didn't joke like they used to either, didn't hug, kiss . . . 

He couldn't bring him self to touch his own wife, and she just went along obedient as ever. She could've left him. Could've taken the kids and left him behind to rot like the messed up sack of shit that he was, but she didn't. She wouldn't. They loved each other.

Of course they did.

13 years together wasn't worth throwing away just because he was suddenly a mentally unstable wreck. She still loved him even when he slept on the couch every night rather than next to her in their bed. 

She understood. You'd think that he'd find comfort from sleeping safely in a bed with another person, but the nights he woke up with someone beside him sent the tech into a panic, mouth open and ready with a blood curdling scream.

At first Lisa had attempted to soothe him with gentle touches and soft whispers, but he had merely replied with pitiful whimpers and flinched violently away from the harmless comfort. It suddenly became too much when one night his sons burst through the door with looks of terrified concern on their young faces. He couldn't bare them seeing him like that, so he'd managed to distance himself as much as possible from them while still remaining a reliant husband and father figure. He could handle her subtle touches every now and then, though hugs and loving caresses still set him on edge. 

He was truly thankful to have her in his life.

Nobody had ever understood him like she did. It explained why he fell in love with her in the first place. He couldn't keep her in the dark like that.

"I did too." He muttered. The surprise Waylon had felt when he spotted Eddie sitting at the piano had almost been enough to send him into shock. 

Yes, they all had thought The Groom was dead. 

Turns out Eddie was very much alive though, and different now too. 

Very different. 

"He needs help, Lisa. Honest to goodness help from somebody that will hear him out. He never had the chance to get that, and I want to be the person who makes sure that he does." He finished, bowing his head. 

Her fist tightened as he explained. It couldn't be easy to hear that your mentally disturbed husband wants to go gallivanting off with some sicko psychopath that also happened to contribute greatly to the creation of said mental instability.

"Lisa, please," Waylon hesitated before rested his hand over her's gently. "Do this for me." He pleaded. 

Lisa relaxed immediately at the touch, and shifted to meet his gaze with a reluctant smile. "I don't like the idea of you being around that lunatic, but . . . " She took a deep breath. 

He tilted his head as she turned her body to face him. "But, I'll support you. If that's what you really want." The look of determination she gave him was all he needed right then.

He really was so lucky to have her. She was so strong. Always so strong.

Waylon smiled and gave his wife's hand a small squeeze. "Thank you."

Her thumb swiped across the rough bumps of his knuckles and she tilted her head up, smiling sweetly. "Of course, darling."

Waylon swallowed, extracting his hand and offering her a grateful smile. 

Why did that sound so wrong coming from her mouth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! Please let me know if you find any mistakes. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter! Sorry.

Eddie awoke to the sound of screams and his door being slung open by a small brigade of nurses in soft looking yellow scrubs. 

It took him a few moments to realize the screams were his own. 

He didn't even notice he was shaking until one of the nurses began to whisper at him comfortingly, gently easing him back down onto the sweat soaked sheets. 'Deep breaths', he was instructed. 

Nurses fussed about as he closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the pounding in his crown. They brought him water and newly prescribed morning medications along with a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and toast. He had half a mind to decline the food, but as soon as he inhaled the scent of melted butter his stomach clenched painfully in recognition. 

Eddie all but inhaled his breakfast, not caring about the looks he received as he piled eggs onto the toast and shoved half of it into his mouth with a single bite. 

Good God. 

Eddie could not remember the last time he'd had an actual meal. The kitchen in the asylum had been limited in nonperishable foods, and experiments had done a good job of expelling his appetite almost entirely. He'd gone a whole month without any kind of nourishment once. 

However, after the morphogenic engine was destroyed his hunger began to return. Not to the point of making him weak or famished, but enough to give him strange cravings for things he remembered enjoying as a child.

Like shellfish, and chocolate. 

Eddie's plate was soon empty, and he took a moment to lean back and stare at the porcelain in remorse. This lasted a few moments before a blue plastic cup of orange juice was placed cautiously on his bed tray. Without hesitation he grabbed the cup and downed the sweet liquid gratefully. 

Eddie let out a sigh of content before placing the cup down gently and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Thirsty?" Said a familiar voice, followed by a nervous chuckle. 

Eddie started and glanced up at his visitor, who was definitely not a nurse. 

"You came back." He said. His voice sounded pitifully hoarse. 

Eddie clutched his throat and rubbed it soothingly, not looking away from the person in front of him. 

Waylon nodded and crossed his arms, relaxing and shifting his weight. "I'm working on your case, and I promised Jess I'd stay and help personally record the progress of your recovery." 

Eddie moved a hand to run his finger around the rim of the empty cup, watching as the liquid gathered and stained his dry skin. 

"Jess?" He asked, not lifting his gaze as he concentrated on the tray in front of him. 

"Your psychologist." 

"Ah . . . "

Dr. Adams.

Silence hung in the air between them, and just as Eddie thought Waylon was about to leave, he backed up and plopped down into the the chair beside the tailor's bed, stretching out his legs with a tired sigh. "So, I thought, since you're feeling well now, that maybe we should talk about some things." 

Anxiety swelled up in Eddie's chest, and he turned to face Waylon, trying not to look to hopeful. 

He faltered as he saw the serious look the other was giving him. 

A pause. "Talk about wha-"

"I forgive you." Waylon rushed out, cutting Eddie off. 

He blinked before his face contorted into a small scowl. A protest rose within him, to argue the inane confession, when Waylon spoke up once more. 

"I forgive you." He repeated and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Perhaps at himself. "I forgive you and . . . I know I really, really shouldn't." He was quiet for a moment and Eddie sat stiffly, waiting patiently for him to continue. 

"I went through hell in that place." Waylon sat up, hunching forward slightly. "But you, what you all had to go through." He stopped, and collected himself before letting out a shaky breath. "For months. The shit they did . . . " 

Waylon paled, swallowing. "What they could've done to me had that thing not come along, and don't you say you don't know what I'm talking about, because you sure as hell fucking do." Waylon added quickly when Eddie began to reply. He snapped his mouth shut again, lips pinching tightly. 

Waylon stood and walked across the room, pulling apart the blinds to peer out onto the grounds of the facility. "Anyway, the point is, what you did was absolutely horrible, and disgusting, and fucking traumatizing, a-and insane," Eddie would have flinched if he hadn't thought it all true himself. "But what they did to you all was just absolutely fucking inhuman." 

Waylon turned to him with a look of ferocity and vengeance only a surviver could manage. 

"You're never going to have a normal life Eddie, but I will promise you now that we're going to do everything in our power to get you as close to something like it as possible." Waylon finished, nodding to himself. 

The declaration hung in the air with promise, and Eddie's heart clenched violently in his chest. 

Emotions crashed over him like giant waves. Emotions he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was overwhelming. Before he could even think, Eddie tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, causing the empty tray to clatter to the ground. The blond flinched, but didn't Eddie stop. He strode across the room towards Waylon until they were nearly toe to toe. 

Waylon had thrown himself against the wall in shock, attempting to put more distance between them, but Eddie was already on his knees and encircling his arms around the other's small waist, burying his face into the firm stomach. 

Waylon was a statue at his touch, and seemed not to be breathing. Eddie grasped his hips with strong hands and pulled him away from the wall, tightening the awkward embrace. "My darling, Waylon. Why?" He whispered in breathless disbelief, tears pricking at his eyes. Eddie closed them and let out a shuddering sigh as Waylon began to breathe again. What had come over him? 

"Uh. Uhm-" Waylon rested his hands on Eddie's shoulders with an iron grip, pushing him back enough for their eyes to meet. The grimance he received easily been mistaken as a smile if he truly hadn't known any better. "Eddie." Waylon said with a sense authority, which caused the tailor to frown, letting his arms go slack. "I also want you to realize-" He cut himself off, as if thinking better of the statement to come. "Ah . . . well." 

Eddie stared into those green eyes with concentrated patience. Waylon cleared his throat and pushed him away completely, turning his head to look somewhere other than Eddie's icy stare. "Never mind." He mumbled. "I'll be back tomorrow evening. B-bye, Eddie."

Waylon pulled away completely, and then he was gone. Out the door in a hasty retreat, nearly slamming into the doorframe in attempt to dodge a nurse returning with a cart stacked high with fluffy white towels. 

The nurse shuffled about, cleaning the mess of broken porcelain and leaving just as quickly as she came. She did not ask him why he sat there on his knees, staring at the empty spot on the wall where Waylon had stood moments before, rigid with discomfort. 

-

Waylon stared at his steering wheel for a good twenty minutes before letting out a growl of frustration that was unfamiliar to his voice, and punching the horn with strength that he certainly did not possess. He was seething, but snorted as he noticed a lone employee dressed in scrubs jolt, dropping his cigarette in surprise at the blare of a car horn. The employee mouthed a curse and shot Waylon a glare as he picked up the ruined cigarette and tossed it in the receptacle. Scrubs then shot him a particularly rude hand gesture before turning back to the emergency exit doors and pushing through them moodily. 

Waylon groaned, burying his head in his hands. He stayed like that until his neck became stiff and he had to roll it slowly to work out the unwanted kinks. Leaning back, he glared up at the roof of his car, his hips buzzing with the ghost of Eddie's touch. 

He was probably one of the only people who actually cared enough about Eddie's recovery to admit it to his face. But even so, he didn't know why exactly he had said all of that. It just came out in a landslide of passion and other indescribable emotions. Totally embarrassing. Perhaps he could've been a little less passionate about it, especially knowing exactly how unpredictable the other man could be. 

Strangely enough though, Waylon found he honestly didn't care that much, and he didn't really regret it either. 

Though, maybe it hadn't been very wise to insult him so much. Especially in his presence.

Waylon closed his eyes. It had brought him back to the asylum. Being pressed flat against the wall while Eddie stocked towards him, piercing blue gaze making it impossible to look away. He felt the cool metal walls of the locker closing in on him as The Groom's peered through the bent slits, their faces inches apart. Anxiety clawed it's way up his throat, and he could've choked if it hadn't been so fast. 

When the tailor had dropped to his knees Waylon couldn't even breathe. Eddie's nose tickled his navel, and the soft sigh of 'darling' was almost enough to make his legs give out. 

Waylon wasn't able to leave the confines of the metaphorical locker until Eddie placed strong hands on his hips, bringing him back to the moment. 

Only one other time had Eddie touched him so passionately, and it had been when his bare body was strapped to a wooden table stained with blood, buzzsaw inches away from his balls. Eddie ran his hands down the length of Waylon's bare legs, muttering sweet promises that fell on unlistening ears. 

All he could hear was his own deafening heartbeat. 

Waylon was sure then that he would die then. He was going to be gruesomely murdered, and the monstrous man in the grubby ass tailored suit vest would be the one to do it. 

How many people could say they survived having their dick sawed in half? 

Waylon thought back to the gymnasium.

Not many, he concluded. 

Then was saved. It had happened so fast. He hadn't thought as he rolled over the edge of the table, pulled on his uniform and ran as fast as his injured leg would allow him. 

Eddie had been absolutely livid. 

But now, that all felt like a distant dream.

The Eddie in the asylum was not the Eddie he had spoken with little over a half hour ago. That Eddie had died in the fire, his spirit left to haunt the halls of the abandoned asylum for years to come. The new Eddie was the old Eddie, he assumed. Eddie before Murkoff. Eddie with a chance of a new beginning, before he was drove to pure, unadulterated insanity. 

Insanity that manipulated him into a beast, a predator with nothing on his mind but the hunt. 

Though Waylon had seen a light within Eddie, just before he was admitted to the asylum himself. The man had slammed his palms against the glass separating them. He was naked, afraid. Fear in his eyes as two brawny men dragged him away, crying out in desperation. He had begged Waylon not to let them hurt him . . . 

To rape him.

Waylon had thought him crazy. 

If only he had realized that in that moment, he was the crazy one for thinking so.

Waylon sighed, pulling the seatbelt over his chest and buckling it in before putting the car into drive and pulling out of the institute's parking lot. The silence made him feel sick, and his thoughts made his head hurt, so he switched on the radio and turned the volume up. The song that was on was not one that he had heard before, but it sounded pretty good. 

Waylon found himself drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He pulled to a stop at a red light, and herd of kids approached the crosswalk. Just getting out of school, he though, taking notice of the time. He wasn't annoyed with them, but he couldn't help shifting in his seat anxiously as the count down was already to 3 and the second half of students were still on the opposite side of the road as their friends. 

It appeared that one kid had stopped to tie his shoe. As to why the fuck he stopped there, in the middle of the fucking road, Waylon didn't know. 

One student stopped next to him, holding up a hand to Waylon's car. Okay now he was annoyed. Waylon made a motion with his own hand that meant "hurry the fuck up or I'll run you over". He wouldn't actually, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with stupid shit. The kid stood when he finished, then he and his friend sprinted to the other side of the road. They made just as the light turned green, and Waylon let out a sigh of relief. 

-

Waylon was exhausted. Honestly, he needed a nap. 

As soon as he entered the small apartment he breathed in the noticeably sweet smell of cornbread, and quickly made his way into the kitchen where his wife was. The tech leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as he watched his wife working at the counter. 

Lisa must have heard him come in, a sweet smile on her face already when she turned to greet him. "Hello, sweetie." She said, wiping her hands off on her apron.

"Hey, babe. Everything good?" Waylon asked, trying to peer around his wife to see what she was making. 

"Ah, ah." She waved him off. "Wait until dinner. Caden's bus should be here any minute now."

Waylon let out a playful sigh, tossing his head back. "Fine." He kicked off his shoes and flopped down onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

He was just dozing when he heard a door slam shut, and the prepubescent voice of his eldest son filtered in from the front hall. 

"I'm home!" A pause. "And I smell something edible!" 

The blond heard his wife's chuckle from the other room, and he cracked a smiled as she yelled out to him. "He's your son alright!" 

"Not as much as he is yours!" 

"Stop trying to put the blame on each other and help me with my homework." A heavy backpack dropped onto his chest, causing him to wheeze and his son to laugh. "Please." 

Waylon sat up and put the pack on the floor. "Sure thing, bud. What do you need help with?" 

The brunet sat next to him and pulled the bag close enough to unzip it and take out a thick white folder. "Just some math. That's all I have tonight for sheet work, then just studying for everything else. Tests are coming up." He dropped the heavy folder onto the coffee table and flipped it open. 

Waylon whistled. "Tests, huh?" He said as he leaned over the boy's shoulder. "They're really cracking down on kids nowadays with all this testing they've got going on. By the time you graduate you won't have a will to learn anymore. Your brains will be fried!" A vision of gore splattered microwaves pished its way to the front of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it and placed a hand on his son's head, ruffling the mass of curls. "You'll be fine. You're a bright kid." 

Caden snorted and twirled a pen around his thumb, turning concentrated eyes towards his homework. "Yeah, okay." 

Waylon sat back, throwing an arm across the back of the couch. "Hey! I mean it!" He gave a lopsided grin and nudged the boy with his knee. "I'm really proud of you." 

The boy smirked. "Thanks, dad. Now if we can just please-" He said, gesturing to the pile of work. 

The computer tech laughed and shook his head. "Never have I met a 12 year old who actually liked doing his homework." He paused in thought. "Besides myself of course." He said haughtily. 

"Ha ha. Yeah. I love it so much." Caden said dryly, rolling his eyes. 

"Hey. Don't get smart with me, boy." Waylon scolded, fixing his son with a stern look. The boy frowned and turned to face his father. 

"I'm always smart. Not just with you." 

Waylon barked out a laugh at the younger one's stubbornness. "Alright, kid. You got me." He sat up straight, clapping his hands enthusiastically. "Let's get to work then."

-

Dinner was pot roast, and it was magnificent.  


So magnificent, that Walyon had treated himself to an extra two helpings that night.  
  


And as he lay on the couch at one o'clock in the morning, he began to regret it. 

A lot. 

He was not used to eating so much anymore. His stomach couldn't handle it. So the extra food filling his belly was slowly and surely killing him. The blond agonized his pain by moaning quietly into the couch cushions for half an hour before rolling over and making his way to the bathroom. 

His reflection showed that he looked just as horrible as he felt. 

Waylon was green, in a literal sense. He moaned and slumped over to the sink, fumbling with the knobs to turn on the cold water. After splashing his face a few times, Waylon gripped the sides of the sink, hanging his head and breathing deeply. The nausea started to fade and he let himself look up at his reflection once more. He still looked like shit, but considerably less shit than before. 

The tech closed his eyes, sighing. 

What kind of man can't handle extra helpings at dinner?

'Why, you're not a man at all, darling.' 

Waylon gasped, staring wide and gaping at his reflection. 

No. No. No. He is a man. He is a man with a job and a wife. A wife and two loving children that he created. By having sex. With his wife.  
Sex he had. With his dick. 

Men have dicks. 

'I can fix that for you.' 

The words resonated from memory, and the nausea was present once again. Before he could think to dive for the toilet he was hunched over the sink, gripping the sides with white knuckles and emptying his stomach of pot roast and acid. 

Waylon's eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned miserably, "Fuck." Then dry heaved until his body decided it was finally enough, and collapsed on the bathroom floor a shuddering mess. He let out an appreciative moan when the cold tile pressed against his burning cheek. 

Maybe he could just sleep here for the night, he thought. 

There was a soft knock at the door. "Waylon, sweetie . . . are you alright in there?" His wife whispered. 

"Just great." His lips brushed against the grimy floor as he spoke, and suddenly the idea of sleeping on the cool floor was no longer lovely. Slowly, he picked himself up and grasped the doorknob for leverage. He didn't want to deal with this right now. "I'm fine. Just ate too much." His tone dismissive. 

Lisa seemed to understand, because Waylon heard footsteps retreat back down the hall. He listened until the bedroom door creaked shut. 

Waylon let out a sigh and turned back to the vomit filled sink. 

Gross. 

He grimaced, then reluctantly began to clean up his mess. The boys wouldn't appreciate brushing their teeth over that in the morning. 

He gagged for good measure. 

When he was finished he swished his mouth with water and shuffled down the hall back to the couch. 

Waylon threw himself down onto the makeshift bed and shut his eyes, sleep taking over instantly. The nightmares welcomed him with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments. Pls. Also lemme know if you find mistakes! Enjoy :)


	3. Chapter 3

Waylon did not come back the next evening. 

Or any after that.

Eddie was beginning to think he would never see the man again. 

He'd scared him away. 

Of course he had. 

Eddie should’ve known better than to let his stupid emotions take control of him. 

Dr. Adams had asked if his sullenness around the facility was perhaps because of the new medication. Eddie simply told the broad no, and stared indifferently until she was forced to change the subject. 

Days passed and the tailor sat restlessly on the cot in his room. Nurses came and went, doctors ran their tests, and other patients kept their distance. 

Then group sessions became a thing. 

Eddie was completely surprised to recognize one other person from the asylum, but only by the distinct misshapenness of their face, not because he knew them personally. 

The patient didn't seem to know him though. Eddie found he actually preferred it that way. 

With each day his heart grew weaker. 

He felt helpless. What was he to do now that Waylon had left him? Color in coloring books and play with his therapist until they felt he was stable enough to interact with other patients on his own? 

He doesn't want to do anything but speak to Waylon. The other man had filled him with warmth and hope. Even an odd sense of . . . security.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into a month.  


A month alone in his room with far too much to himself. 

"He's gone. Isn't he?" He croaked pathetically. 

The nurse checking his vitals gave him a curious look. "He?" The woman asked absent mindedly, turning back to the heart monitor. "Your heart sounds just fine Mr. Gluskin. I'm sure you'll be alright with time." She smiled sympathetically. He shook his head in disbelief. Then why did he feel such a sharp ache in his chest every time he found himself missing the ghost of those haunting green eyes? "Heart break happens to the best of us." The nurse removed the band from his arm, chuckling. Oh. Had he said that out loud? "If you need anything just let me know. I'm right down the hall." Then he was alone again.

He wouldn't call for her, she knew he wouldn't.

Eddie would not call for him either, even though Waylon was the only one on his contact list. He knew the other man would be obligated to come. 

Forcing Waylon to be in a room with him was selfish. Eddie didn't know why he ever bothered to hope in first place. It was absolutely ridiculous. 

He was an idiot. 

And apparently now he was an idiot with a broken heart. 

"Will it?" He said to no one. "Can time alone really heal the pain?" Eddie had come along silently for Waylon. He had played nice. Kept his mouth shut. Maybe Eddie had thought it would help gain the other man's favor. He'd spent months thinking about him after all, yet Eddie was sure Waylon hadn't thought twice about him. 

Not in a good way at least. 

What is there to live for now that Waylon is gone? 

Without him, Eddie was alone. He was nothing. 

The negative thoughts continue to rain down on the tailor like an violent ocean storm.

He is alone. 

Completely alone. 

Who would care about him, if not Waylon? 

Who would believe him, if not Waylon? 

Who would love him . . . if not Waylon?

Eddie was a freak. A monster. Sick. 

Hidious. 

Nobody would ever try to understand him like Waylon did. 

No one. 

His hands began to shake. 

No one would listen to him like another person with thoughts and feelings. No one would pay attention to him, a monster. 

Just as no one noticed him slipping out of his room, and down the hall. 

No one noticed him slip quietly into the staff bathroom, locking it behind him with a soft click. 

Eddie flicked on the light, startling as he caught sight of his horrid reflection. He leaned in, eyes widening in terror at the marring of scars disfiguring his face. Slowly, he lifted a hand to touch. 

A low groan escaped his lips when he realized the sensation of fingers on his face really was his own. This was him. 

He truly was a monster. 

Eddie let out a wrecked sob, knowing well that no one would hear him at this time of night. 

Just as no one heard his heart shatter along with the glass of the mirror as it smashed beneath his fist.

No one.

-

Waylon got the call at 3:42 am, Monday. 

"Mr. Park, please do forgive me for this, but we need you to come in immediately." 

"Jessica?" He said, stifling a yawn into the pillow. "Why? What's wrong?" He pulled the phone away from his face to check the time. 

"It's Mr. Gluskin. He's . . . It seems that he-" 

Panic resonated in Waylon's stomach, causing it to turn in nausea as he stood from the couch, moving to the front hall. "What? What did he do? Is anyone hurt? Did he-"

"Please don't waste time Mr. Park. Just get here to see for yourself." The psychiatrist snapped, then cut the line abruptly. 

Waylon sighed, pocketing his phone and grabbing the spare keys off of the coat hook. His fingers wrapped around the handle and twisted, pulling the door open. 

"Waylon?" The blond flinched and whipped around. 

Lisa stood in her dressing gown, arms wrapped around her stomach and a tired look of concern on face. "Where are you going this early? It's almost 4:00." 

Waylon slumped in his spot and ran a hand down his face. "Work called. Eddie is in trouble. I need to go see what's up." He explained defeatedly.

Lisa was silent. 

He turned away. "I'm sorry. I'll be back soon. I have to go." 

The door clicked shut behind him. 

\- 

Waylon didn't know what he'd expected. 

Well, he did. He'd expected someone to have been brutally murdered. 

He did not, however, expect to see Eddie lying still on his cot, hooked up to a heart monitor with bandages wrapped all the way up his arms. 

He did not expect to hear the doctors quietly explaining to him that the large man had attempted to bleed himself dry at approximately 2:40 in the morning when nobody would notice him leave his room due to low security. 

He did not expect himself to ask to be alone with said man so he could sit down and hang his head in shame. 

Waylon knew he'd regret never coming back the next evening like he had promised. Not only to the board, but Eddie as well. 

Unthinkingly, he reached out a hand out to press his fingers against the other's exposed wrist, feeling the too dull heart beat for himself. 

Even yet, the reassurance was enough to make Waylon choke out sob and clench his fingers tighter around the tailor's own. Tears fell freely down his face like they had not in a very long time. 

It was his fault, he should've know Eddie wasn't stable enough to understand that he was only a part of Waylon's mission, and that he would have come back . . . 

Eventually. 

Though, this was a bit much wasn't it? Suicide? That didn't seem anything like Eddie. 

Eddie was a beast. The Groom. A predator. He was the eat of eat or be eaten. 

He wouldn't surrender to something so trivial, whatever it was. 

Waylon was just like all of Eddie's other victims wasn't he? There was nothing special about the way Eddie saw him. He would've been just as viciously mutilated as the rest of the patients Eddie trapped. No doubt about it. 

So why him? Assuming this is about Waylon at all, what else did Eddie have besides the illusion of a long lost love?

His hand fell uselessly to the bed, then slid off and back into his lap. It was sweaty. He was sweating all over actually. 

The tech wiped his palm against his pants and leaned back, casting his gaze to the ceiling. "This is so fucked up." His whispered, letting his eyes fall shut. 

"Then why did you come back?" Waylon jolted in his seat and snapped his head in the direction of the voice. 

There, Eddie sat, upright and staring at Waylon with a sad look in his eyes. The question held an air of nervousness. 

Waylon didn't know what to say. Eddie was dead asleep when he sat down. He guessed the tailor's instincts alerted him of someone close by, a survival tactic given to him by countless nights spent in the asylum. 

Waylon thought of this because he had the same exact problem. It's not exactly easy to rest when there is someone itching to kill you (or worse) around every corner. 

He must've been staring too, because Eddie raised a bandaged hand to wave it in front Waylon's face. "You shouldn't have come if you're just going to be frightened the entire time." Eddie said, this time he sounded annoyed. 

"I'm not frightened. Just surprised." Waylon retorted. "I was really worried." 

Eddie's brows furrowed. "For what reason?" 

The tech scoffed. "For what-" He paused. "What do you mean, 'for what reason'? I get a call at 3:00 in the fucking morning telling me I need to hurry over because you're in some kind of trouble! I thought someone had died!" 

Waylon leaned forward in his seat, gripping the arms of the chair. "And then I get here and you're almost dead on a fucking hospital bed. What the hell were you thinking, Eddie?" 

They held eye contact for a beat before Eddie turned around to lay back down on the bed. 

"You weren't coming back." 

Oh, so it was about Waylon. 

He groaned quietly, covering his face with his hands. "Suicide, Eddie?" 

The tailor grunted, turning on the bed so he could face Waylon again. "I didn't try to kill myself. I was just upset." 

Waylon uncovered his face to look at Eddie. "My head is clearer than it's been in years, Waylon. I'll never get you out of my mind. I thought you'd left me forever. I just . . . got a little emotional and overreacted." 

Bull shit. All of it. This kind of explanation was coming from a grade-A serial killer psychopath. It didn't make any sense. Eddie was obsessed, yet he acted like it was nothing. He was in denial, and Waylon saw right through the false composure. 

"Eddie."

"Hm?"

"Eddie." He repeated. 

"What, Waylon?"

"I'm married." Waylon said firmly. 

The tailor seemed to be looking anywhere but the tech. Eyes clouding over as his shoulders drew up to his ears. 

Waylon wrung his hands, pushing on. "I have two kids. Sons. Caden and Andrew." He wasn't afraid of telling Eddie this.

Why wasn't he afraid? 

"I have a wife named Lisa, and I work for an organization that's sole purpose is to bring down Murkoff and erase it from existence." Waylon took a slow breath in, clenching his hands tightly on the arms of the chair. "I am a man, Eddie. I'm not the love of your life, and I'm not anyone to get upset over . . . I'm just Waylon."

Eddie did not speak. 

Waylon almost felt alone in the room with the way the tailor shut in on himself so completely. He'd been waiting to hear all of it, Waylon realized. To recognize the truth. It was harsh, but necessary. 

Still, Waylon couldn't help but wonder if Eddie thought he was actually some heartless jerk. He had to say something else. 

"But," but what? "But, how about we get to know each other instead? I can't be your lover, but I can be your friend." Friends? What was he saying? "I suppose." He ended lamely. 

This Eddie seemed to hear because he let his shoulders fall comfortably. "You'd do that for me after . . . after everything I put you through . . . you'd stay with me?" He asked, eyes brightening again with hope. 

Waylon's breath caught. 

"Yes, Eddie." He hesitated. "We can be friends." 

With that, Waylon stood and walked over to the window. He squinted up at a flock of birds soaring across the early morning sky to distract himself from how Eddie's voice broke as he spoke. 

"Thank you, Waylon. You have . . . no idea how much that means . . . "

Except he did, but that was the least of his concerns. 

How was he going to tell Lisa?

-

She clutched the newspaper tightly in her fist and adjusted the messenger bag on her shoulder, making her way up the front steps. The button buzzed as she pressed it, turning her face towards the security camera above her head. 

"I'm here to see an Edward Gluskin."

A voice filtered through the intercom. "Are you on the contact list?" 

She cleared her throat, pushing her shoulders back. "I'm family." She said. 

"One moment please." 

-

Waylon came around nearly every day after that. 

Needless to say, Eddie was delighted.

He'd ask for more of his time if could, but realizing that Waylon did in fact have a family of his own to take care of changed things. 

Eddie bet Waylon was a wonderful father. Always determined to take care of others. Lisa, the blond had said, was the name of his wife. 

He briefly wished to think of her as the whore that stole Waylon away from him, but just as quickly managed to push it down, not wanting to disrespect his darling's partner. If Waylon loved her then surely Eddie could too. 

Waylon was everything to him now. Everything he needed. The tailor doubted anyone could possibly take Waylon's place in his heart. 

Eddie felt humbled, strangely, by accepting the fact that Waylon was a man. He realized his delusional obsession with women was not because of attraction, but resentment. 

Eddie's own mother had sat back and done nothing as his father set out unleashed unattended to desires upon him. Not exactly a surprise, as they did come from an extended line of religious background. His grandparents probably would not have enjoyed knowing their only child was a pervert. 

Like father like son Eddie mused, letting out a chuckle to himself. 

"What are you laughing about now?" Waylon questioned, crossing his arms and leaning back comfortably. 

Eddie shook his head. "Did you know my father was gay?" 

Waylon's eyes widened. "Well, I had assumed. I read a few documents about you when I still worked at the asylum. One mentioned something about his attempts at . . . " He trailed off, not wishing to strike a nerve with the large man. 

Eddie nodded and began speaking again. "I was laughing at the fact that I've turned out exactly like him. Monkey see monkey do, you know?" He grinned.

The blond let out an uncomfortable giggle. "You seem to be accepting, the uh, gay think pretty well. Should I be worried?" He teased, raising and eyebrow.

Eddie smirked. "No. I've been thinking so freely lately that it almost feels as if I was never a completely different person on the inside. It's unusual isn't it? I should be actively trying to harm everyone around me right now." 

Eddie took a moment to look around the room. "But I have no desire to." He shrugged. "I should be so out of mind that I cannot even function, but every day my chest feels lighter and lighter, and my mind feels clear like glass." 

It really didn't add up. Honestly, Eddie should be in a padded cell, rocking back and forth and cradling his head while he screamed himself hoarse. 

But he wasn't. 

In fact, he seemed to be getting . . . better. 

Waylon's brow furrowed. "I doubt this place's technology is strong enough to fix that kind of trauma."

Eddie nodded. "Perhaps not. But Murkoff's was..." 

Waylon lurched forward. "You don't think Murkoff actually cured you, right? That's insane." He hissed. 

Eddie laughed. It was insane. "I don't know, but perhaps. The morphogenic engine's job before Blaire came along was to actually cure mental sickness, believe it or not. I was in the orb for a week, and once they took me out I was suddenly aware of everything that was happening. I tried to run, but they caught me, took me to a room and strapped me down. Made me watch some video on repeat until I could see it behind my eyelids every time I blinked. It drove me crazy, I couldn't sleep without seeing it on replay in my dreams." 

Eddie took a short breath before continuing. "I still see it sometimes, but it doesn't bother me. Not anymore. Any hostility I once felt towards people has faded away. I almost feel dirty for being so . . . vulgar. You know?" He finished, looking up to see the other's reaction.

Waylon sat back in his seat, puzzling things together, Eddie assumed. 

"Maybe you really have been cured, Eddie." He gave Eddie a sympathetic look. "But they'll never let you leave. Not after the the crimes you committed. The only way you could be saved from arrest would be to plead insanity, which you've already done. As far as the rest of the world knows, there's no cure for insanity. Nobody would believe you." 

The tailor nodded. "Yes, I know. I don't think I could function properly in the real world after what I've been through anyway. Of course I wouldn't mind a normal life, but everyone is dealt a sense of purpose and being at birth. I believe it is my destiny to wait out this life in recluse. Perhaps in the next it will be different. Better even." 

Waylon smiled. "It's good that you can stay positive, even like this." 

Eddie felt his chest warm at the sight of Waylon smiling. "It is isn't it?" 

Waylon hummed. 

"Mr. Gluskin?" The two turned, looking towards the door. Eddie's personal Doctor stood there, phone in hand. 

"Yes?"

"It seems that you have a visitor. Are you feeling well enough to follow me to the other visitation room?" A visitor? Who could possibly be there to see him? 

"Who?" 

"They've chosen to keep their identity to themselves until they see you. Security and privacy reasons. They claim to be family."

Family? Eddie had no family left. 

"Ah. Well." He turned to Waylon, pushing the blankets off of his legs. "Shall we then?"

The blond seemed concerned, but nodded. Following them out of the room and down the hall. "Do not be alarmed, but for the safety of the visitor it's required that you are handcuffed. Touching is not permitted, and if the situation appears to become too much for either participant then the meeting will be ended." 

They stepped onto an open elevator, letting the doors close behind them. Eddie remembered back to when Waylon threw himself down the elevator shaft and injured his leg. 

The tailor let his line of sight fall to the other's leg, wondering if he had an ugly scar, or if the stitching had helped to make it nearly unnoticeable. "Is that alright? If not you can head back to your room now."

"Hm?" His eyes snapped up to meet the doctor's questioning gaze. "Oh. Yes. That's fine." The spectacled man nodded, stepping out into the hall as the doors opened. "Then we'll do it here and I'll have Jim escort you into the private visitation room to wait." 

Eddie stuck out his hands, letting the doctor clasp cuffs around his wrists. "There." 

The man named Jim placed a hand on his bicep and guided him into the room, sitting him down and attaching the chain to a hook on the metal table. He used a key to lock it into place. 

"Tug." 

Eddie did. It was secure. He wouldn't be going anywhere. 

"Alright. Please wait." Jim left, the door slamming behind him. 

-

Waylon was just as confused as Eddie. Who could possibly be here to see him?

"A girl."

"A girl?" 

"Yes. Don't make me repeat myself, Mr. Park."

"Who is she?"

"She claims to be related to him. I don't know the details, but she came in this morning with her birth certificate and license. Insisted she at least get to see him. He knew her mother I guess." Jessica inspected her nails, letting out an exasperated sigh. "She's in the other room, waiting." She pointed to a door leading off of the visitation room. 

"Ah. Okay. Thanks, Jess." 

"Don't call me that."

"You got it, Jess." He said, pushing the door open and stepping inside. 

The psychiatrist was right. There the girl was, standing tensely with her arms crossed, staring at Eddie through a tinted glass window. "Hello?

"Waylon Park." He started. 

"Uh, that would be me."

"I know." She turned, looking at him. Her eyes were dark and but her hair was a light blonde, braided back delicately from her neck. "I read about you in the papers. You found Edward Gluskin at the asylum and brought him here." 

He grunted. "I did. Speaking of, who exactly are you and how do you know Eddie?"

She tilted her chip up, arms folding tighter around each other. "I don't know him. But my mother did." 

Waylon stepped closer, coming to her side and looking through the glass as well. 

"She fell in love with him." The girl continued quietly. 

Waylon took it as a sign to stay silent and listen. 

"He was charming, she told me. Always bringing her gifts and taking her out to dinner, and one night he asked her to come home with him. She did. Just as they were about to . . . " She waved her hand around. "You know. He hit her, pushed her down on the bed and tied her up. He cut her all over and raped her, but he had been drinking too, mom said, so after he finished he went to the living room and passed out on the couch. She got away somehow and went to the police. They caught him and found out she wasn't the only one he'd done it to. About 19 other bodies were found in his attic, strung up by their necks to the rafters." 

Waylon had never known much about what Eddie had done to get arrested in the first place. The fact that he wasn't surprised was bit unnerving. 

"The police took her to the hospital and they kept her for a few days. After she was released she went back a few weeks later vomiting. She was pregnant." 

Something clicked in Waylon's head. 

"And, Eddie. He's..."

She nodded, turning to look at him again. "Yeah."

His breath caught. "Wow." 

She nodded again, letting out a shaky breath of her own. "Yeah."

"I never would've guessed. Are you sure?"

She shrugged. "I don't know him."

"But you'd like to." 

"I never thought I'd get to see him . . . I don't know if I ever wanted to." 

It's understandable, considering what Eddie had put her mother through. "Wait, then why are you here alone? Does your mother know you're here?" The girl bit her lip, Waylon wondered if she did it often. 

"She died a few months ago." 

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. She wasn't happy." 

He didn't know what to say. Lucky for him, they were interrupted by the doctor from earlier coming through the door leading on to the room that held Eddie. "Miss Kylie, ready?" He stepped back, holding the door open. 

The girl, Kylie, nodded. "Yes."

She stepped towards the door and halted, turning to Waylon. "Will you be watching?" 

"Do you want me to?"

" . . . Yes."

"Then yes." She accepted the answer and walked through the door. It closed loudly behind her, and Waylon watched as she greeted Eddie, her lips moving without any sound. 

A moment passed before Eddie said something back and she laughed in return, letting the tension ease from her shoulders as she took a seat across from him. 

Waylon narrowed his eyes, walking towards the control center and turning on the audio. Kylie's voice filtered through the speakers above his head. 

"You don't know me, but you knew my mother."

-

Eddie stared at his reflection in the mirror, waiting patiently for his visitor to arrive. It must've been about twenty minutes before the doctor entered from behind him and walked across the room to pull open a door to the right of the large mirror. "Miss Kylie, ready?" 

So, Kylie was here to see him. 

He didn't know a Kylie. 

"Yes." A female voice replied. He sat up straight, trying to look around the doctor to see the owner of the voice. 

"Will you be watching?" He heard her say. 

"Do you want me to?" Waylon's voice replied. What was Waylon doing with the visitor? Eddie leaned forward some more. 

" . . . Yes." 

"Then yes."

A petit girl of average height with soft brown eyes and blond hair appeared in the doorway. The doctor shut the door behind her and left through the way he came in. 

"Hello, I'm Kylie Connaway." Her voice shook as she spoke. 

Eddie didn't like the way it made him feel. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, which was odd because when had he ever cared what anyone thought of him? 

"You're shorter than I imagined." Not that he imagined at all. 

She laughed, surprising the both of them. 

Kylie, yes Kylie, pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. 

"What brings you here, Miss Kylie?" He asked. 

She let her shoulders fall back and took a short breath before answering, "You don't know me, but you knew my mother. Alessia Connaway. You dated back in 1998." Eddie nodded. "I remember her. Sweet girl. For a-" He cleared his throat. 

"For a whore?" Kylie finished. 

He choked. "Dar- Kylie, please do not use such language-" 

"Oh you mean like the kind you used as you tied my mother down to a bed and raped her?" His jaw came loose and he stared at her, dumbstruck. 

"She told me everything before she died." Her tone was softer now. 

Eddie closed his mouth, his tongue felt dry. "When?" 

She held his gaze as she spoke. "A few months ago, and don't even tell me you're sorry. I'm sick of hearing it." 

Eddie let out a huff. Her defensiveness was intriguing. "I wasn't going to say sorry." 

She accepted this, nodding. "Good."

For a moment nothing was said, so Eddie took this time to truly look at her. She was pretty, plump. Likely to her mother in several ways. 

That spiteful attitude was one he could never forget. 

"So why are you really here?" He asked, watching as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and gnawed on it. 

"I never really understood why I didn't have a real father until she explained everything. She told me I was old enough to know the truth." Kylie shook her head and huffed in exasperation. "She made excuses for you until the day she died." 

He frowned. "Why?"

The hairs that came loose from the braid fell over her face as she tilted her head down. "Because you gave her me."

Because he...

"Excuse me?"

Her lip turned white, teeth pressing down harder before releasing. "Biologically," she continued calmly, "You are my father." 

His head shook involuntarily, he didn't know what to say. It never once occurred to him that one of those women could've . . . That he would be . . . 

"I don't expect you to want to know me. I don't need you, I have a stepfather. I just thought maybe, if you got to know me, then we could . . . I could . . . " 

She thought he didn't want her. 

He felt like he was standing in the middle of train tracks, a freight racing towards him at 60 miles per hour while blinding lights flashed in his eyes. He saw the moving images of a video on replay behind his lids when he blinked. His throat constricted and his eyes burned something fierce. 

"I want it. I thought I would . . . I never thought I would get the chance to be a father. It's all I've ever wanted." He glanced at the mirror. 

That's not entirely true. 

"I would love nothing more than the chance to get to know you, Miss Kylie." His voice shook, but he didn't care. 

This girl, this woman, was his flesh and blood. He was naive to believe her so easily, but he felt desperate. "I'm prepared to do anything."

This was absolutely ridiculous. 

Her expression was like sunlight, and her touch was gentle when she reached across the table to place her hand on top of his. "Just call me Kylie." 

Tears threatened to fall, and a grin of his own spread across his his lips. "Kylie." The name tasted sweet on his tongue. "Hello." 

She laughed, and her smile was all teeth. "Hello, Eddie."

The intercom above them beeped, "Touching is not permitted!" 

Kylie stood, pushing the chair back with her legs. "Fuck off!" 

"It's fine, Jessica. Kylie? Are you alright?" The doctor's voice asked. 

"I'm perfect. Release him." She demanded. 

"Miss Kylie, I'm afraid it is against regulation to-"

"I said, release him."

The door behind Eddie let out a buzz and Jim walked through, prepared to forcefully remove Kylie from the room. 

"No!" Eddie yelled at the same time as his daughter, the chains of his cuffs rattled against the table as he pulled at them in vain. The intercom beeped to life once more. "Jim, just unhook him. You're fully capable of apprehending him if need be."

"Sir!"

"Jim." The guard grunted, releasing Kylie and pulling a circle of keys from his belt to unlatch the hook from the chain. 

"Cuffs stay on." Eddie nodded and stood pushing the chair behind him. 

Kylie all but ran around the table and threw herself onto him. He brought his arms up and over, pulling her close and burying his nose into her hair. She squeezed him so tightly that it became impossible to hold in the sob stuck in his throat. He embraced his daughter with every once of love he didn't even know he had in his body. 

"Is it alright if I keep calling you Eddie? Sorry, it just . . . It wouldn't feel right to call you dad." She asked nervously. 

"Of course, sweetheart."

Her smile was prominent, even against his chest. 

"Okay."

-

Waylon felt his own grin form as watched the two hold each other. Oddly enough, it reminded him of his boys. Completely out of nowhere, this girl. 

But strangely, Waylon felt that maybe things really could become somewhat normal for Eddie now. 

Who knows? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you find any mistakes! Enjoy :)

It was all surprisingly easy, Eddie thought. 

Even so, the bizarreness of the situation still unsettled the tailor, screaming at him about the absolute wrongness of it all. 

Since waking up to Waylon's voice croaking out anguish beside his sleeping form the day after his assumed attempt at suicide, he'd felt wonderful. More than wonderful. In fact, he'd never felt better! 

But this girl, a gift though she was, just didn't seem to make sense. Things were becoming too good to be true far too quickly for his liking. 

-

Eddie found himself terrified that one day he would wake up, only to still be laying on a filthy old cot at the asylum. There was a constant fear that he'd truly become disturbed beyond the ties of reality, and that, in some way, he'd actually configured some gross alternate reality for himself in order to cope with his dark plunge into absolute madness. 

Eddie's turmoil went unvoiced as days passed by in a blur of Waylon, Kylie, medication, therapy, and surprisingly, contentment. 

Waylon was an absolute enigma in himself. Despite their past together he still managed to smile at Eddie without a trace of resentment. He addressed the gentleman with amusement, and more often than not, a sense of ease and comfort. 

Eddie sat across from green eyes now. Eyes that gazed silently out the window towards a group of screaming children, running around merrily on a playground just outside of the facility's perimeter. It was a peaceful silence, one Eddie did not actually mind. The sound of them shifting in their chairs and a quiet murmur scattered randomly throughout the visitation room was enough to distract him. 

That morning Kylie had brought her stepfather with her to meet Eddie. It was awkward, to say the least. They shook hands respectably and let the teenager do most of the talking for the duration of the visit. When it was time to leave Kylie hugged the groom briskly before excusing herself and her companion. 

Apparently she and the man had plans to go watch a baseball game together that afternoon, and since they were both adamant fans of the sport they left as early as possible in order to ensure they got good seats. 

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he tried not to let the envy get to him too much. 

Waylon arrived later, around three, and found Eddie in the library adjacent to the game room. 

Eddie looked up from his book in surprise, not expecting the other to come any time before four, as he usually did. The blond gave him a nonchalant shrug and told him his wife was on 'bus duty' that day. Accepting the answer, Eddie placed the book back on the shelf and they both made their way to the much livelier visitation room. 

Well, perhaps lively wasn't the word he was looking for. It was where he spent most of his time, and it was carefully monitored. Which in logic should put him off, but it did him well to know they were both safe. (In all honesty it was probably because he still didn't trust himself to be alone with the blond.) 

Eddie observed silently as Waylon leant forward and rested his chin in a palm, still watching the children in a blinking daze. His eyelashes were thick and dark, and they brushed softly against his cheeks with every blink. 

Waylon breathed in deeply as a breeze pushed its way between the bars on the window. 

God, Eddie thought. 

He was gorgeous. 

Waylon's eyes opened again, shifting to meet Eddie's own. 

"What?" 

"What do you mean what?" 

"You're staring."

"Am I?" 

"You are."

"Do forgive me, Waylon. I believe you're mistaken. I was simply thinking while looking in your general direction. Please do get over yourself." He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Waylon chuckled, resting his hand on the table in front of him. He twisted the simple gold band on his left ring finger with his thumb. 

"Oh, come on Eddie. We both know I'm a work of art. Don't be shy." He teased back, eyes glinting with amusement. 

That was another thing Eddie admired about the blond. His dry humor was infectious. It hadn't taken long for Eddie to become accustomed to it, and the normality was comforting. 

Eddie lowered his eyes, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs beneath the small table. Waylon jumped as a foot brushed against his calf. 

"Yes, you are, aren't you." He said, voice pitching lower so only the other could hear. "An absolute masterpiece." Waylon's breath caught, and the sound sent an electric shock up Eddie's spine. 

His gut tingled warmly.

They held each other's attention for a few moments before Waylon cleared his suddenly throat and snapped his gaze towards the ring still twisting his finger. His voice wavered warningly when he spoke, "Eddie..." 

Eddie closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in frustration. "I know. I know, I'm sorry." He swallowed stiffly before opening them again to take in Waylon's expression. 

He'd expected disappointment, maybe, but the blond's gaze was still turned away from him as he nervously shifted in the chair, biting his lip in thought. That was actually something about Waylon he didn't approve of, the hesitance. Nervous ticks that reared their head whenever the two were together. 

Waylon spoke cautiously, even when he joked around, always worrying what the groom might say or do if he said something wrong. It bugged Eddie beyond belief, he might even say it aggravated him, but he didn't feel comfortable allowing himself to be upset with Waylon. It made him feel sick. 

Carefully, so not to disturb the man across from him, he reached across the table. His hand stopped just before he could touch Waylon's, though still sat close enough for the blond to notice and lift his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze. Firmly, he said, "I know what you said. And I will continue to respect your wishes. But, I can't allow myself to get over how I feel about you." Waylon said nothing, just stared on in bewilderment. 

"You were a realization for me." He continued, softer this time. "I thought about you everyday for four months in that place, and I still do. You're all I ever think about these days. Perhaps you still think I'm delusional, but I know who I am now. And I'm not afraid anymore." His jaw clenched. 

While he had accepted his sexuality for what it was, it was still difficult to talk about. His voice was strained when he spoke. "It's hard, Waylon. I never asked to be like this. I never asked for what- what happened to me, and maybe that's why I still have trouble accepting myself, but I accept you as you are and it's honestly quite frustrating that things can't be how I wish they could. I know that I cannot put that kind of pressure on you though! And . . . really, I just appreciate you being here for me even after ever- everything that happened and, and-" His voice choked to a stop and gentle fingers slid comfortingly over his own on top of the table. His eyes stung furiously and he pinched them shut, hanging his head until his chin bumped his chest. 

"Eddie. It's alright." Waylon's assuring tone did nothing to stop the vibrations thrumming through his body. It was dizzying, and Eddie hunched over himself as a sudden wave of nausea clenched in his stomach. "Eddie, calm down. It's okay. I hear what you're saying and I understand. Just look at me." The fingers curled around palm, the cool metal of Waylon's wedding ring pressing against Eddie's pinky. 

Why did it have to be so difficult? Eddie shook his head and frowned, pulling his hand back and into his lap. 

"I'm sorry." He whispered harshly. "I love you and I'm sorry." It was wrong of him to expect Waylon to take anything he said into consideration. Who was he to Waylon? A friend. Nothing more. He's lucky Waylon even wants to talk to him. Being his friend should be enough. 

But it's wasn't. 

It hurt so much that he'd finally found out who he was and still couldn't even have this. Eddie figured that their relationship might be better off ending as it was, if not for his sake but Waylon's. It wouldn't do well for them to become uncomfortable with each other now. 

Waylon's fingers twitched on the table.

“I know." He said. "It's okay." 

Eddie raised his eyes and caught Waylon's own defiantly. "I don't think you really understand what I'm trying to say." Waylon opened his mouth, but Eddie cut him off. "I love you, Waylon." This time making sure to enunciate each word clearly. The blond swallowed convulsively. 

"I know, Eddie." His cheeks dusted pink, perhaps beginning to feel awkward. "I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be." Oh, but he could. He totally could. It's just that he wouldn't. 

No! No. Enough of that, Eddie thought, staring at the band on Waylon's finger in disgust.

"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said anything at all, even though it's not fair to keep something like that from you." Eddie said. 

Waylon scowled. 

"Something like that? Really, Eddie? This again? Why do you dismiss your emotions like they don't even matter?" The blond scoffed in annoyance, though his tone softened when he spoke again. "You can't help it, Eddie. You might be better now, but nobody can control their emotions like that. They can only hide it. Don't even think about it because I'll know and I will not accept that kind of behavior." The authoritative parental tone might have been funny had Eddie not been feeling so bitter in that moment.  

Waylon's foot nudged his calf encouragingly. "I'm happy for you, Eddie. You've been doing so well. Don't turn around now just when everything is looking up for you." It was Eddie's turn to scoff now. 

"Everything isn't 'looking up for me'. Stop acting like you could even begin to understand what I'm going through." Eddie regretted it as soon as he finished, his mouth opening and closing awkwardly before finally choosing to stay shut. Damn. That was harsh.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Waylon clenched his hand hand into a tight fist and growled out, "Why can't you see that none of this is about me? It's not going to happen Eddie, so there's no use in being bitter about it. How do you know I don't know what you're going through? Do you think I've never been the victim of unrequited love before?" Eddie winced, looking down at the table and avoiding the ring. 

Waylon continued. "Or maybe because you're gay and I'm a man? Is that it? Eddie, I think you really need to stop assuming you know everything about me." The blond sighed, unclenching the fist to sit back and run fingers through his hair. 

"How could you possibly know?" Eddie questioned cautiously. Waylon hadn't gotten upset with him like this in a long time. 

"Jesus Christ, Eddie. I'm bisexual!" Waylon said, exasperated. 

Eddie frowned in confusion. "You're a what?" 

"Oh my god!" Waylon laughed loudly. Just like that and the tension was gone. "What do you mean what? Bisexual, Eddie. You know, liking both guys and girls." 

Waylon paused. "How old fashioned are you?" 

Eddie let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very. I didn't even know that was actually a thing." 

Waylon shook his head, "It is, and now you know. So stop moping and focus on what's important." Eddie frowned at him. "Kylie, Eddie. Getting better. New beginnings!" The blond exclaimed a bit breathlessly. 

"New beginnings? Simply being here is a new beginning for me. It doesn't get any newer than this, I'm afraid. Unless you suggest I take up knitting, though I'm not so sure I'm allowed to have sharp objects anymore." Eddie bit the inside of his cheek and placed both hands on top of the table, pushing his chair out and standing in one swift motion. "I think it's time I retired for the night." 

Waylon rolled his eyes, standing as well. "It's only," He looked down at his watch. "4:52. You can't expect me to believe you're going to bed before you've even eaten dinner. You never miss a meal." And as of on cue, before the groom even had the chance to open his mouth, his stomach growled obnoxiously. Rude. 

Eddie stared as Waylon simply replied to his silence with a raised eyebrow, then stood and made his way towards the door. 

He did not have to be told to follow, because he would always follow. 

Eddie would follow Waylon anywhere. 

-

Waylon's eyes strained against the bright light of his computer monitor. He'd been working since he got home, and his fingers were starting to cramp up from typing. 

After a quick glance at the time, he saved the file and logged off. 

Waylon sat back and rolled his neck and shoulders, sighing in relief as they let out a serious of satisfying pops. This particular afternoon with Eddie had been stressful, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about everything they'd said since. 

Love. As if Eddie actually loved him. He didn't even know anything about Waylon apart from the fact that he was married and had kids. 

This job was starting to get difficult. 

Frowning, Waylon looked down at the wedding band on his finger. It glinted as he moved his hand closer. Hesitantly, he reached up with the other to grasp it between two fingers and pull it off. 

It was simple, and gold. The inside was engraved with Lisa's initials, and her's with his. 

It was "sweet", she had said after he sprung the idea on her. Their wedding planner agreed. A little reminder that they'd always be with each other, no matter what. Waylon smiled fondly at the memory. 

The promise still held, and they remained together even now . . . but things would never be like they were before the asylum. 

Before Eddie. 

Waylon couldn't give Lisa the intimacy she craved, most of the time he could barely even stand her or the boys touching him. Of course there were rare exceptions, times when his guard was down and his son's head in his lap or his wife's hand on his cheek didn't cause him to recoil in fear. 

But not often. 

So what on earth had compelled him to let Eddie touch him? It wasn't anything innocent like a simple grazing or fluttering motion. No. They out right held hands. 

It was wrong. So wrong. Not to mention the reason Waylon hated being touched so much was because of Eddie in the first place. Nothing he did made any sense, and it was starting to screw with Waylon's head. 

Sliding the cool metal back onto his finger, he stood and walked to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. 

Waylon pulled a cup down from the cupboard and held it under the tap, touching the back of his wrist to the top of the faucet and watching as water filled the glass. He touched the faucet again, turning it off, and brought the drink to his lips shakily. 

Water filled Waylon's mouth, and slid down his throat soothingly. 

What is going on with him? 

Was he finally going mad? 

Took him long enough. 

He tipped his head back and drank faster, gulping down the liquid greedily. Soon it was gone and Waylon found that his tongue still felt unnaturally dry. He turned to the sink again and refilled the cup with fumbling hands, bringing it to his lips once more. 

Waylon chugged the drink as fast as he could, and his lungs ached at the lack of air. 

Why him though? What did he do to deserve this? 

Waylon's stomach cramped tightly, but he ignored it. When that glass was empty too, he refilled it again. His hand was shaking so hard he could barely maintain his grip on the cup, vision blurring the moment it brushed his lips.

"You'll drown yourself like that." 

The glass slipped from his fingers, crashing to the ground and shattering, water splashing his legs and soaking his socks. Waylon panted, gripping the counter with white knuckles and squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Hah . . . Lisa. Y-you scared-" 

"What's been going on with you lately, Waylon?" The annoyance in her voice sent a tremor down his spine, and he tilted his head to let her know he was listening. "You're making yourself sick. I knew it was a bad idea to let you go around that man. He's bad for you, Waylon. You don't even realize what he does to you." 

She thought it was about Eddie?

Oh. 

Perhaps it was.

Eddie was bad for him. 

Being around Eddie was possibly the absolute worst thing he could be doing to himself. 

Logically, simply thinking about Eddie was disastrous to his health. He shouldn't even be anywhere near Eddie. 

But he was. Everyday.

And it excited him. 

Waylon breathed in sharply, cracking his eyes open to look at the mess around his feet. "S-Shit." He lowered himself to the floor and quickly began picking up the shattered pieces of glass. "I'm sorry, Lisa. I'm fine. I'll get this cleaned up and we'll talk okay? I know I've been busy lately a-and- Gah!" He dropped the shards, cradling his hand to his chest. 

"Dammit!" Waylon hissed. 

"Waylon!" Lisa padded over, minding the glass as she reached down to pull him up and away from the mess. He flinched violently, scrambling away from her and stumbling into the kitchen table. "Waylon, this is ridiculous. Let me see." She held out her hand. 

"No." He mumbled, shaking his head and cradling the hand to his chest tighter. 

"Waylon please. Sweetie, come on now." She took a step towards him. 

"No!" Waylon bellowed, voice echoing off the walls. Lisa jumped, her eyes widening at the sudden outburst. Regret swelled in his chest, but he shifted farther away from her still. "Just. Don't . . . don't touch me." He raised his head to meet her eyes, they were both breathing heavily.

"Please." He finished weakly. 

"Fine." She snapped. Spinning on her heel and walking out. She returned a moment later with a roll of gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, setting them down hard onto the island. 

"Goodnight, Waylon." Her footsteps carried down the hall, and the bedroom door clicked shut. 

Waylon let out a shuddering sigh and took a few tentative steps towards the island. He grabbed the alcohol with his non-injured hand and took it over to the sink, unscrewing the cap and opening his lacerated palm to examine the cut. 

No glass. Good, the blond thought. 

He held it open just above the drain, slowly pouring disinfectant over the wound. It bubbled and fizzed nastily, his nose scrunched at the unpleasant smell. He set the bottle down to the side and walked back over to the island, picking up the roll of gauze and unraveling it. 

Waylon dressed his wound messily, then cleaned up the floor the best he could with an injured hand. When finished, the tech made his way exhaustedly to the couch. 

It was already late, and Waylon had to be up early the next day to accompany Eddie to his group session (psychiatrist's idea not his). 

The couch groaned under his weight and he groaned as well. Things were getting too messy for his liking. He couldn't afford to let it get tense at home, Lisa was supposed to be his rock. 

Maybe it was time he got himself some help as well.

-

The room was dark, save for a bit of light filtering in through the window. Eddie's eyes blinked sleepily up at the ceiling. It must've been nearing 1:00 am then, and his body felt stiff from laying still for so long. 

He smacked his lips, swallowing a couple times. The last time he'd had a drink was dinner, though he'd only taken a few sips. He would call for the nurse, but felt it'd only be a bother considering how late it was. Eddie couldn't leave his room to go get one either, since the doctor had taken to locking his door at night.

The room was not only dark, but hot. Stifling. A light sheen of sweat had broken out just above his brow. Perhaps it was time to file a complaint about the hospital's lack of a handyman on duty at all times. Even Mt. Massive had employed a night staff to mirror the day one. 

What if a patients were to suffer of heat stroke alone in their locked room during the night? Well, that was a bit exaggerated of course. It's wasn't that bad, but his room was still hot regardless. Perhaps Waylon knew how to fix an air conditioner. 

And there it was again. Eddie could think of little else besides Waylon, and everything, despite how random it be, reminded him of the man. Waylon filled his thoughts almost constantly. Where was Waylon? Who was he with? 

Did Waylon think of Eddie as much and he did him? 

Returning to the reality around him became a daunting task, especially when his thoughts turned into things not entirely appropriate considering their new newly established "friend" status. Then he was left with a sticky, sap-like guilt oozing deep within his gut. 

That's how it always was, so probably not best to start again. By the time he finally blinked a nurse will have unlocked the door and wheeled in breakfast along with his morning medication. 

Eddie sat up with a sigh and pushed the blankets down the bed, swinging his legs over the side to stand. He walked to the window and peered out. Eddie watched as a light breeze blew through the park trees and then turned his gaze to the lock on his window. He wished for nothing more than to open it and let the breeze blow onto his heated face. The thought was enough to make him groan in remorse. If he hadn't been so ridiculous and thrown such a childlike fit the window wouldn't have to be locked at night. 

The bars on the window were close enough together to keep a man of his size stuck in the room. It's not as if he would try to leave again either. Escape was futile.

Besides, where would he go? 

To Waylon? 

Waylon wouldn't want to see him. 

Would Waylon even be awake at this time? Did he stay awake each night as the tailor did, wasting time thinking of trivial things rather than getting a healthy amount of rest in order to begin the next day? Eddie would have to scold him for such terrible sleeping habits if so. Though, that would make him a hypocrite wouldn't it? 

Perhaps he'd be up with his wife, watching movies and talking in low voices over a glass of wine. They'd share a kiss or two, as married couples often do. It's normal for a man to kiss his wife. It was also normal for a man to sleep with his wife . . . 

Waylon had mentioned to him before that human contact was still quite difficult for him to handle. Who else did this apply to besides strangers? After yesterday Eddie figured it couldn't possibly apply to Waylon's family or immediate loved ones. 

Not that Eddie was and immediate loved one. 

He frowned.

So why had Waylon let Eddie do that?

Just how deep did Waylon's scars go? 

-

Waylon moved quickly and quietly around the apartment the next morning. He didn't want anyone waking up and trying to speak with him. Especially not the boys. Not after the night before. 

It wasn't fair to them that their father was so distant, but he just couldn't deal with their curious little questions and excited energy. He had to leave before Caden got up to get ready for school. Waylon checked his watch. It was 5:45. Caden's alarm went off at 6:00. Maybe he could take a peak in just to check on them. 

With that, Waylon made his way down the hall slowly, making sure to avoid any spots on the floor that creaked. He came to a stop in front of his sons' ajar bedroom door, and lifted a hand to push it open. 

The boys were fast asleep, both breathing deeply through their slightly opened mouths. Waylon couldn't help but smile as he pushed his way inside to lay a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads. Thankfully, neither stirred and he made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

Checking his watch again, it was now 5:50. He had to get going. Waylon sped to the entry way, grabbed his bag and keys off of the coat hook and left. 

-

Waylon arrived just as people were beginning to show up for work. He went to the front desk to see if Eddie was awake yet, but before he could ask a busy looking nurse sidled up next to him and dropped a file onto the desk. "Mr. Gluskin is waiting in the visitation room." She said. 

"Ah. Thanks." Waylon mumbled, turning and walking speedily towards the stairs. 

He really needed a fucking break. He needed to talk. 

Perhaps he could seek out a new therapist here, but he didn't exactly trust therapists anymore. The system was still corrupt, none came close to Murkoff of course, but that didn't matter. It was rare to find a medical professional who wasn't in it for the money. His chances of finding a doctor that truly cared for his well being were slim. He'd ask Eddie what he thought when he saw him. 

Waylon's steps skid to a halt. 

When had he started to value Eddie's opinion on anything? 

He started walking again at a slower pace.

Eddie was sitting at their usual table next to the window with a book in hand. He seemed quite immersed it in, eyes flickering over the page and soaking in the knowledge it had to offer. Every few moments he'd turn a page, or wet the tips of his fingers in order to split the ones that stuck together. 

Waylon did not notice he was staring until Eddie lifted his head and turned to look at him. 

He was standing just outside of the room, peering through the glass in what could be considered a rather stalker-like manner. 

Eddie grinned at him, and that set Waylon's legs back into motion. 

He took a seat across from the other and set down his bag. "Good morning." Eddie said. "You're here early." 

Waylon couldn't help but offer his own little smile. 

"Yeah well, early bird catches the worm." He said awkwardly.

Eddie hummed, "That's quite true." He closed his book, pushing it off to the side and leaning to rest his forearms on the table. Waylon looked at the book curiously. "Or did you simply miss me too much?" 

Waylon avoided the question. "What's that?" Asked, nodding his head towards the book. 

Eddie lifted the book again, waving it slightly with a raised brow. "This?" 

Waylon nodded. "Mhm." Eddie offered the book and Waylon took it, turning it over to read the title. "Poetry?" He said with surprise, looking back up. "I never took you as one who liked poetry." Which was true, even though the very way Eddie spoke was poetic. 

Eddie shrugged, leaning back in his seat and turning his gaze outside. "It was sitting here when I arrived." Waylon tilted his head and opened the book to a random page. "When did you arrive?" He prodded. 

Eddie smirked slightly. "Wouldn't you like to know?" 

Waylon rolled his eyes. "Don't start. I only just got here." Eddie chuckled, but said nothing more. 

Waylon turned a few pages before coming to a stop at one of the shorter poems. 

‘Even if the sky turned grey and the clouds came rolling in   
I would ask you to stay 'till the storm passed over  
'Till the rain drowned out our voices  
And even if you left the next day   
I'd wait for when I could see you again'

a/n

Waylon grimaced but smiled none the less. It was pretty cheesy. He closed the book and pushed it back towards Eddie. "Fascinating." He droned sarcastically. 

"Isn't it?" Eddie said softly. Waylon met his eyes. For some reason, he had no trouble meeting the striking blue with his own. 

Yet he couldn't think of the last time he'd met Lisa's warm brown gaze comfortably. 

"Yes." Waylon whispered, feeling his pulse in his throat. 

Eddie's eyes flickered down towards his hand, brows drawing together sharply. "You're hurt?" 

"Accident." Waylon offered quickly. 

"You should be more careful." Eddie muttered worriedly. 

"I will." Waylon said. He wanted to apologize, but then he remembered that he had nothing to be sorry for. 

Eddie replied with a look so intense that Waylon felt glued to his seat. 

They sat like that for a few moments. 

It was Eddie who looked away first. Waylon bitterly wished to know why that upset him. "The other patients are going outside today for group." 

Waylon looked outside as well. Patients were filing out into the court yard and beginning the activities group leaders had planned for them. "Shouldn't we be with them?" He asked. 

Waylon had forgotten he was supposed to accompany Eddie to group that day. 

Eddie pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawed on it. Waylon's eyes followed the movement. "The doctor says that I need time away from them in order to collect myself. He thinks I'm jealous." Eddie said. 

Waylon frowned and leaned forward. "Are you jealous of them?" 

"No!" Eddie snapped. Waylon flinched. Eddie deflated instantly and ran a hand down his face with a sigh. "No. I'm not." He paused. "Why would I be when I have you?" He asked slyly.

Waylon let out a shaky breath. "Yeah I guess not. Sorry. Just . . . don't do anything else irrational. Then you'll really have nobody to talk to." Eddie tried to counter, but Waylon beat him to it. "I know you don't talk to Jess." 

Eddie sighed in defeat. 

"You're right." 

Waylon smirked cheekily. "I know."

With that they fell back into a comfortable silence, just enjoying the other's presence. 

Waylon wanted to ask Eddie what he thought about Waylon speaking to one of the doctors, but figured that was a conversation for another time. Eddie already seemed on edge, and Waylon didn't want to push any more than he already had. 

The rest of the morning was spent speaking of little things. How Kylie was doing, stories from their school years, Eddie's broken air conditioner. Waylon promised to take a look at it that afternoon. 

When they were finished visiting Eddie stood and stretched, shirt riding up his stomach a bit and exposing the thick muscle that lay beneath. Unlike the other patients from Mt. Massive, Eddie had hair both on his head and the rest of his body. He even had a dark swatch of curls trailing from his navel and down beneath the waistband of his sweats. 

Waylon looked away quickly, feeling a light blush dusting his cheeks. What. The fuck. 

"Ready?" Eddie asked. His voice thick and deep from finishing the stretch. 

Waylon nodded, "Yeah." He grabbed his bag and pushed back from the table to stand and escort Eddie to his therapy session. 

Just before Eddie opened the door he turned to Waylon, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you for today. I hope to see you again soon?" He asked innocently, but the tone of his voice implied something significantly less innocent. 

Waylon huffed. "Of course, Eddie." 

Happy with the answer, Eddie turned and entered the room without knocking. 

Waylon made his way up the stairs until he came to the janitorial closet. He knocked politely and when nobody answered he tried the handle. It was unlocked. 

Waylon pushed inside and looked around for some sort of tool box. There was one sitting on top of a small desk hidden in the very back, so he grabbed it and left the room in search of a broken air conditioner. 

-

Eddie entered his room late that evening and was greeted pleasantly with a cool gust of air. He smiled despite himself and ignored the nurse as she went about the room doing a manual check before exiting quickly. He flopped down onto his bed and reveled in the wonderful feeling of cold sheets on his face and arms. 

Eddie slept comfortably that night.

-

Waylon sat at his desk, finishing up some analysis or whatever on Eddie's behavior. When he was done he scanned the document briefly before forwarding it to his boss and the head doctor at the hospital. He felt a little guilty considering he was Eddie's only friend and yet he still had to act as a professional and authoritative figure after their meetings. 

Lisa was out with her sister tonight, and Caden was at a friends house. That left only Waylon and the youngest, who was currently passed out on the couch with his toy race car still firmly clutched between tiny fingers. 

Poor kid had it rough at the ripe age of three. Waylon chuckled, reaching for the remote to turn off the tv. 

He knew he had to put him to bed, and if he didn't then Lisa would be pretty upset. Letting out a deep sigh he stood and walked over to the toddler, clenching and unclenching his fist as he came closer. 

Waylon leaned down and pushed his arms beneath boy's back and under his knees, lifting him up into a cradle. 

The car dropped to the floor and Waylon sped down the hallway, nudging the bedroom door open with his foot. He set the child down on the bed just before the first signs of panic began to set in. 

Waylon stumbled backwards until his legs bumped into the other bed, and he allowed himself to sit down heavily. His hand shook as he brought it up to his mouth and began to breathe slowly in and out of his nose.

He needed help. 

Forget the possibility of corrupt doctors and being cheated out of his money. He needed it. 

What kind of pathetic father couldn't even hold his own son? 

Waylon. 

So, for the boys. 

For Lisa, and himself. 

-

. . . For Eddie.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are HIGHLY appreciated! Please let me know if you find any mistakes. Thank you and enjoy!


End file.
